


Too famous to live long

by Eledhwen



Series: Hal's Histories [2]
Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1592, and Londoners are bustling to the theatre to see the latest plays - and there's a new writer in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too famous to live long

“Movie night!” said Alex, bounding into the living room with a bowl full of popcorn. 

Tom reached for the popcorn and crammed a handful into his mouth. “McNair never let me have this,” he said, through a mouthful, indistinctly. 

Alex offered the bowl to Hal, who grimaced at it. She put it on the coffee table. 

“So, what're we watching?” Tom asked, between mouthfuls. 

Closing the DVD player, Alex displayed the case triumphantly, and her housemates both sighed. “It's a bit ...”

“It's utter tosh,” Hal said, with certainty. 

“It's a classic. It won Oscars,” returned Alex. “And there's Joseph Fiennes in it. And Gwyneth Paltrow, for you boys. Shakespeare, in love; what's not to like?”

“It's all wrong!” Hal repeated. “Apart from Judi Dench; I grant you that her performance is remarkably like Elizabeth. The rest ...”

Alex hit mute on the DVD, which was showing the menu screen. “Hang on. You _met_ Elizabeth I?”

“Met might be stretching it a little,” Hal admitted. “I was at court. I saw her. She may have acknowledged me once or twice. William Shakespeare, on the other hand ...”

Seizing the remote, Alex turned the DVD off. “I hereby cancel movie night,” she said. “Go on.”

***

London in the latter years of the 16th century was a whirlwind. Hal, who had spent 10 years trying to go clean, had come to the city to lose himself amid the crowds and give in to nature. He had received a cautious welcome by the vampire community; it seemed that, while several years shy of a century, the name of Henry Yorke had already spread. 

He had taken rooms on Cheapside, amid the bustle of the City, and had discovered that life in the city suited him. London was far, far larger and more lively than any other place Hal had lived for any length of time and he laughed to think of the way, growing up, he had thought York to be surely the capital of the world. Granted, it was filthy; on a hot summer's day the stench of meat from the market at Smithfield drifted towards the river, which itself stank in a different way. But there was colour, and life – a perfect place to hunt without being noticed. 

Although Hal was not in London not to be noticed. He was making the most of his title, spending time at court. For the first time he felt almost comfortable being “Lord Harry” rather than plain Hal of York; greeted with deference by not only other vampires but by humans as well. The grandeur and customs of Queen Elizabeth's court fascinated him – who was allowed to speak to whom and in what order, when to bow and how low, the code the ladies of the court used when they wanted to get a message to a gentleman. 

But one could not spend all day at court. Early in his time in London Hal had gone, accompanied by a recently-recruited young vampire, to the playhouse on Bankside and had sat enthralled by a new play about Faustus. Since then he had returned to the Rose Theatre on many occasions, alone, with women, with men, with vampires. The theatre entranced him; he had discovered a love for language in the years travelling Europe and since learning to read and write, and the use of words the playwrights displayed astonished him.

After each performance the audience would dispel into the streets around Bankside, heading to the taverns, to the bear pit, or to cross the river by boat or bridge. Depending on his mood, Hal would either wander back to his lodgings over the bridge, or would join the hordes drinking or gambling. It was easy to pick off victims amid the crowds, and even easier if he dressed in plain clothes and watched the play from the pit.

He found that his taste was for all types of play – tragedy, history and comedy. He liked all the popular playwrights and many of the actors, with a preference for Edward Alleyn over Richard Burbage. In short, the boy whose only connection to the dramatic arts growing up had been to trail around York following the guilds as they performed the Corpus Christi plays had become a keen and loyal supporter of the theatre. 

Hal had been in London for eighteen months or so when, with some excitement, it was reported that the Admiral's Men were putting on a new play about the life of King Henry VI. The thought of a new play, as much as the amusement of going to see a piece written about the man he had been named for, drew him across the river again. The theatre was crowded for the performance, and the reception was warm. Hal applauded as loudly as anyone else.

Afterwards he found himself swept along towards one of the nearby taverns, where he bought an ale and looked for a place to sit and drink and spy out something more appetising. The only space in the tavern seemed to be at the end of a table covered in parchment, where an unremarkable young man, his fingers bitten to the quick, was sitting writing. Occasionally he would pause, swallow ale, and then return to his work.

“Do you mind?” Hal asked, gesturing towards the end of the bench. 

“Did the play just finish?” the young man returned, dipping his quill in his inkpot. 

Hal took that as a yes, and sat down. “A short while ago.”

“And what was the conclusion? Of the audience, I mean?” the young man asked. “Did they take to it?”

“I'd say so,” Hal said. He pulled a sheet of parchment towards him and studied the spidery writing. “'Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, / And change misdoubt to resolution: / Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art / Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying,'” he read, and looked up. “It is a sequel to tonight's play.”

The young man nodded, morose. “If ever I finish it.” He put his quill down. “Perhaps I should have gone tonight, but the company is demanding a script for the next. Was it really well-received?”

“Yes, it was,” Hal reassured him. He held out a hand. “I'm Hal.”

“Like the king,” said the writer, shaking. “Will. Late of Stratford. Do you come to the plays often?”

“As often as I can,” Hal said. “Do you write much?”

Will shrugged, picking up his quill again and scratching a few more words. “I've written a few things. I haven't had much success, yet, though Master Henslowe seems to have taken me under his wing.”

“A powerful patron,” said Hal. Philip Henslowe ran the playhouse – he was a good man to know, in the theatre world. He watched the writer scribble. “And after you have completed Henry's story, what next?”

The young man paused, his quill dripping a blob of thick black ink on to the page. “I thought of writing about more of our kings. If I am writing about Henry, then perhaps Richard Crookback. But comedies and tragedy too, great love stories and plays to make men laugh. There is so much possibility on the stage.”

Hal drank, and studied Will. “There is. I think you'll hit the mark, Will of Stratford. There was a kind of magic in the Rose tonight, I thought, and I've seen a lot of plays.”

“I'm in need of supporters,” ventured the playwright. 

Standing, Hal considered the young man. There was an attraction in the thought of recruiting him, and ensuring a constant flow of new works for as long as he cared to write them. But he knew, as well as anyone, that becoming a vampire meant a change. Would young Will from a small town in Warwickshire still be able to turn out works full of such meaning, if he was separated from humanity? 

“I'll watch your plays,” Hal said. “I'll keep watching as long as you keep writing. For now, that's all I can promise.”

Will shrugged. “It's better than nothing, I suppose. Well, I am pleased you liked my Henry, Hal.” He grinned. “Ah, now, that's a good one.”

“I'll let you write,” said Hal. 

As he walked away, he glanced behind; Will was back to writing, a smudge of ink on his nose and an intent look on his face. 

***

“You thought of turning _William Shakespeare_ into a _vampire_?” Alex asked, aghast.

Hal looked abashed. “I was young. Relatively speaking. These days, you would have said I was a fan. Can't you imagine – how many plays he could have written, if I'd done it?”

“Shakespeare the vampire,” repeated Alex. “Did you meet him again?”

“Once or twice,” Hal said. “After the plague. They closed the theatres, you know, for plague, shortly after he'd finished the third part of Henry VI, and _Titus Andronicus_. We had a few plays at court, but it was not until later that Shakespeare really became famous. After that I had missed my chance. But I did keep going to the theatre.” He smiled. “It stank, you know. Hundreds of very unwashed bodies, and the smell of the tallow candles they used, and the smell of the river. But there was nothing quite like it.” He gestured at the DVD box. “But he was far less … fancy, than in your film. He was just a young man, when we met, trying to get by.”

“And Queen Elizabeth?” Tom said.

Hal got up. “A story for another time, I feel. Put the film on. I'll make the tea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hal had to meet Shakespeare, I felt, and this seemed a nice link to Richard III in some way. Extensive Wikipedia research was undertaken, particularly the "Chronology of William Shakespeare's plays" page, which suggests I Henry VI was first performed in March 1592 at the Rose Theatre. The London theatres closed down for two years in summer 1592 when the plague broke out. I also used the fascinating map of London drawn by John Norden in 1593 (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e7/London_-_John_Norden%27s_map_of_1593.jpg) to pick a place for Hal to live. Cheapside was - and is - a major thoroughfare, and the City was where everything happened back then. 
> 
> York's Corpus Christi plays have since become known as the Mystery Plays. Originally performed by the city's guilds, moving around on wagons over a period of several hours to perform key Bible stories, they've since been revived many times. Last summer, as part of York's 800th anniversary celebrations, a cast of hundreds of locals performed the latest version set against the ruins of St Mary's Abbey. Next year they'll be back on the wagons. A young Hal would definitely have seen the plays as a boy. 
> 
> The title of this piece is taken from the opening lines of I Henry VI, and though it refers to Henry V, it seemed suitable.


End file.
